The monotonous speech of Hopeful, blending with the gurgling of the stream, floated down the gully, and enraged the industrious Jig-Leg.
He was silent, ground his teeth, and the osier-twigs broke beneath his fingers from sheer excitement.
"The women are bleaching their linen now."
The horse snorted loudly and became restive. Enwrapped by the mist, she now looked more monstrous and more wretched than ever. Jig-Leg looked at her and spat into the fire.
"The cattle, too, are now at large ... the geese are in the fields...."
"How long will it take you to spit it all out, you devil?" inquired Jig-Leg savagely.
"For heaven's sake, Stephen, don't be angry with me. Let her loose in the woods. It's the right thing to do."
"Have you eaten anything to-day?" shrieked Jig-Leg.
"No," replied Hopeful, confused and frightened by his comrade's shout.
"Then, deuce take you, you may starve for all I care. I spit upon you."